


When Words Fail

by DoreyG



Category: Blackadder
Genre: Anal Sex, Character A correctly assumes Character B knows that A is pining for them, Character keeps picking fights with object of their pining, M/M, Physical Intimacy While Pining, Pining Character A Settles For Meaningless Sex From Character B But Wants More, Post-Coital, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: “...So,” Blackadder is the first one to speak after they’ve caught their breath, because of course he is. God forbid he keep his big mouth shut for even a moment, even when he’s trying to relax and vaguely wondering about a post-coital cigarette. “Was that everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Darling?”
Relationships: Edmund Blackadder/Kevin Darling
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: pine4pine 2020





	When Words Fail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twoam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoam/gifts).



Blackadder thrusts into him again, and he lets out a less than dignified squawk and scratches at the man’s back. He’s already out of his mind with pleasure, but it seems like Blackadder is set on undoing him altogether.

Which is proved when the man only laughs in his ear at his desperation. Draws back again, an overly quick retreat that sends the air catching in his lungs, and then thrusts back in at a completely different angle. One that takes him a lot deeper, one that brushes right up against his prostate and sends heat racing through him.

He can’t restrain himself. Can’t ever restrain himself when it comes to Blackadder, and isn’t _that_ the most humiliating thing in a long and humiliating life. He cries out this time, desperately, and clings to Blackadder’s back even harder. Even lifts his legs and wraps them around Blackadder’s back, just so he can get a little extra traction.

Blackadder is starting to get overwhelmed by pleasure too, he can feel it in the tremble of the man’s limbs, but god forbid he let his mask of superiority drop for a single moment. He keeps thrusting in roughly the same rhythm, keeps letting out these irritating little chuckles in response to every noise he makes. The man has found something that he’s actually genuinely good at, for once, and he’s not going to let anybody around him forget it.

Resentment flares in his chest, sharp and heartfelt, but luckily the pleasure is there to distract him from it. He closes his eyes, turns his head sideways into the pillow to block one ear and tries very hard to ignore anything heard out of the other one. It’s almost impossible, what with Blackadder determined to overwhelm every single one of his senses, but he likes to think that he has experience with the impossible. Look at where he’s worked the past three years, after all.

Blackadder seems to take this as a challenge, because of _course_ he does. The man somehow ups the tempo of his thrusts again, actively fucking him into the mattress now. And makes sure to hit his prostate on every single one of those thrusts, sending that distracting heat rushing through him yet again. And even leans forward to pepper kisses across the side of his face, dipping in to tongue the spot underneath his jaw that always makes him writhe.

He hates the man. He hates him. He _hates_ him. That thought rings through his mind as he finally gives in to the inevitable, lets out a noise like a dying swan - as Blackadder has told him _so_ many times post-coitus - and comes all across Blackadder’s stomach in splatters of messy white.

Blackadder finishes a few moments after him, with a grunt that is _hardly_ more dignified, and he tries to pretend that he genuinely doesn’t care about that. They flop to the bed together, in a tangle of sweaty limbs and largely unspoken resentments. Same old, same old.

“...So,” Blackadder is the first one to speak after they’ve caught their breath, because of course he is. God forbid he keep his big mouth shut for even a moment, even when he’s trying to relax and vaguely wondering about a post-coital cigarette. “Was that everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Darling?”

He thinks for a moment, still coiled under Blackadder’s body, and decides that the best response is a hard and angry shove to the man’s shoulders. “Shut _up_ , Blackadder.”

It’s been this way ever since they went to bed together the first time, about a year into the war. He’d been attracted to Blackadder ever since he’d met the man, despite his obvious personal flaws, and had been fairly cheerful about finally getting him into bed. He’d known very well that it was a meaningless coupling, one of the sort that all soldiers had indulged in at one time or another, but he had cherished foolish hopes of more. Maybe it would be good enough that Blackadder would return for a repeat performance, maybe those repeat performances would lead to feelings slowly starting to grow, maybe those feelings would grow in both of them and one of his ridiculous crushes would actually be requited for once. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

And then Blackadder had rolled over in the aftermath, his hair still ruffled and come still coating his stomach, had taken one look at his face and _laughed_.

“Really, Darling, why such a harsh reaction?” Blackadder purrs, but does at least roll off of him and flop to the side. The man sprawls there for a moment, like a remarkably annoying big cat, and then gropes off to the side for his carton of cigarettes. “I was only asking if it lived up to your terribly romantic fantasies, there’s no need to snap at me.”

“There’s every need to snap at you. You haven’t been snapped at quite enough in your lifetime, and it shows,” he says acidly, and hesitates a second before accepting the cigarette that Blackadder offers. A part of him wants to throw it away, another part of him wants to put it out on Blackadder’s smug face and exit the bed immediately afterwards, but he guesses there’s no real point in wasting rations. “We’ve been doing this for two years now, I don’t have any terribly romantic fantasies left.”

Blackadder smirks at him. He hates that smirk, hates it all the more because of how attractive he finds it. “Come on, Darling, you’re an organized man. I’m sure you remember at least a few of them.”

“Not a single one,” he lies, not willing to admit just how deeply Blackadder has sunk his claws into his psyche. “I’ve deliberately wiped them from my memory. Why would I want to see your face any more than absolutely necessary?”

Blackadder’s smirk grows into a grin, yet another disgustingly attractive expression from the absolute master of them. “Because you long for me, my Darling. Your heart breaks when we’re apart, your mind is constantly on my wellbeing and your very soul pines for my touch. You can’t deny it, we both know the truth.”

“Once, maybe,” he says, again angry at how on the mark Blackadder is. At how the man guessed his deepest secrets, mere moments after bedding him in a way that was supposed to be meaningless. “Not anymore. This is just a physical arrangement, and you’d do well to remember it.”

“Must I repeat myself, Darling? We both know the truth.” Blackadder blows a smoke ring, which he _swears_ the man learned how to do just to annoy him. “You pine after me just as much as you did the first time. Maybe even more, despite everything I’ve done to you since.”

He lies on his back for a moment, smoking his cigarette and wreathed in misery, and then decides that he doesn’t have to take this in his own quarters. He gets up out of the bed, casts Blackadder a foul glare and starts digging around for his hastily discarded clothes.

“It is strange, though,” Blackadder says musingly, propping himself up on his elbows to watch the undignified process. “How you keep coming back, even when it obviously pains you. Why on earth do you expose yourself to that, Darling? Haven’t the past three years contained quite enough suffering, without seeking to add any more to it?”

“I’m a masochist, I suppose,” he says to his socks. And then, because he’s never believed in monologuing to inanimate objects no matter how satisfying it would probably be, puts them on his feet and carries on. “Or maybe your cock is just good enough to make up for your appalling personality. Take your pick, I’m sure you’ll choose whichever is the more humiliating option.”

“That doesn’t explain it, though,” Blackadder continues stubbornly. Always stubbornly, god forbid the man not keep going no matter how easy it would be for him to just shut up and put up with it. “Not entirely. I mean, obviously my cock is just that good and it genuinely wouldn’t surprise me if you were a bit of a masochist considering your general demeanor… But why do you keep hoping?”

He stills, midway into his trousers. Glances up to where Blackadder is fully sitting up in the bed now, staring at him with surprisingly thoughtful eyes.

“Why do you keep caring?” Blackadder asks, and there’s a surprising amount of vulnerability in his tone. Like he actually cares what anybody else says, for once in his selfish and grasping life. “When the only thing you receive in return is humiliating punishment after humiliating punishment?”

He considers this for a second, as he pulls up his trousers the rest of the way and buttons them. If he was a fool, which he has been so many times in the past, he’d think that Blackadder was being genuine… But he’s thought that before, and the only result has been humiliation heaped on humiliation. “I don’t know.”

Blackadder looks surprised for a moment, and then annoyed. He chooses to believe that that just proves his point. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re an intelligent man, Darling-”

“I know _that_ , which is why I’m telling the truth,” he says, acidly yet again. Blackadder always has a certain way of bringing out his destructive side. “I don’t know why I keep coming back to you, and having emotions about you, it just… Happens. And I’d rather it didn’t, but I just don’t seem able to help myself.”

Blackadder smirks again. It looks a little wan, to his eye, but then the man is a surprisingly good actor. “Your self control was always terrible.”

“What about you?” He fires back, slightly nettled by that. Even if it’s true, he doesn’t appreciate Blackadder having yet another vulnerability to throw squarely in his face. “Why do you keep coming here, if you hate me so much? Do you just like torturing perfectly innocent secretaries, or is there something deeper?”

“Something deeper?” Blackadder sneers, but he fancies there’s a slightly unsettled look in the man’s eyes. Good, Blackadder deserves to be unsettled an awful lot more often than he actually is. “You’re sounding like a conspiracy theorist, Darling.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. I’m disappointed in you, Darling. I didn’t expect very much, knowing you so very well, but I expected better than wild and unfounded fantasies.” Blackadder smirks at him. And he tries to tell himself that it’s just a way for the man to try and cover his own vulnerabilities, but he can’t help but feel a soft and miserable sinking in his chest. “Do you really think that I’m here because of any tender feelings of my own? Do you _honestly_ think that I cherish any fond romantic hopes of _you_?”

He stares at Blackadder for a long and silent moment, Blackadder stares back just as quietly. He would fancy, if he was an utter fool, that there’s a strange expression in Blackadder’s eyes that he’s never seen the like of before…

“Of course not, I’m not a fool,” he says, answering both himself and Blackadder in one fell swoop, and crushes the foolish hope in his heart before it can hurt him once again. “The deeper reasons I was alluding to involve you being a masochist.”

“Untrue,” Blackadder says cheerfully, his eyes neatly shuttering again. “But I can see how an underdeveloped mind would come to such a conclusion.”

“Or,” he continues, deliberate and trying to enjoy himself despite the entire situation. “You being so bad at seduction that you have to keep coming back to the one sure thing you know, because nobody else will allow your cock anywhere near them.”

That, at least, scores a hit. Blackadder’s mocking smile transforms into a genuinely ruffled glare, he half rises from the bed with a rather delightfully ugly expression upon his face. “I’ll have you know that I have plenty of other lovers than you, Darling. And all of them _far_ better rides.”

“Ah. But how would you know that, considering that all of them live in Canada?” He teases cruelly, taking what little satisfaction he can from the expression on Blackadder’s face, and bends down to put out his own cigarette on Blackadder’s already extremely battered trousers. “Come on, get dressed and get out. I don’t want you in my rooms for a single moment longer than necessary.”

Blackadder glares at him again, and he tries to take satisfaction from that too, but finally heaves a heavy sigh and rises from the bed. To leave him, just as he always does.


End file.
